


Love is in the air (blood is on the walls)

by Strawberry_Fields17



Category: Monsta X (Band)
Genre: Alcoholisim mentioned, Angst, Family Issues, Heartbreak, Homelessness, M/M, Mild Language, Minor Chae Hyungwon/Shin Hoseok | Wonho, Multi, Murder, My First Fanfic, Mystery, pls be kind
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-10-13 17:49:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10518783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strawberry_Fields17/pseuds/Strawberry_Fields17
Summary: Kihyun knows living on the streets is tough and finding a friend makes things easier. However, all good things come to an end. At the age of seventeen, kihyun finds himself facing the harsh seasons of seoul city on his own. With a rag-tag group of friends he survives but death is never far from life with unexplained disappearances of the street youth and kiyun's friend, things start to unravel as a killer is on the loose. Will kihyun survive? Or is he simply the next victim...





	1. Of boyfriends and beer

**Author's Note:**

> My very first fanfiction given to Moobebe's as a gift :D Unfortunately I can take little to no credit for this masterpiece as it was heavily based on a book I read due to my unorginal arse failing to come up with any good ideas. On a brighter note, I hope you enjoy it and remember to leave comments as it will cheer up my day!!! <3

You can call me Kihyun. It’s not my name, but it’s what I say when anybody asks, which isn’t often. I’m invisible, sitting in a doorway watching the passers-by. They avoid looking at me. They’re afraid I want something they’ve got, and they’re right. Also, they don’t want to think about me. They don’t like reminding I exist. Me, and those like me. We’re living proof that everything’s not all right and we make the place untidy. Hang about and I’ll tell you the story of my fascinating life.   
\-------1-------  
My fascinating life. Yes. Born 22nd November 1993, in South Korea-shire to Mr & Mrs X. We were a family, you know-as happy as most, till Dad ran off with a receptionist in 2007, when I was fourteen and at the local comp. This f***ked up my schoolwork for quite a while, but that’s not why I ended up like this. No. Chang-sun is to blame for that. Good old Chang-sun. Mum’s boyfriend. You should see him. I mean, Mum’s no Miranda Kerr- but Chang-sun. He’s about fifty for a start, and he’s one of these old dudes that wear cool gear and try to act young and it doesn’t work because they’ve got grey hair and fat bellies and they just make themselves pathetic. And as if that’s not enough, Chang-sun likes his beer.   
I suppose Dad must have been a bit of a bastard in his way, but at least he wasn’t a drunkard. You should see the state Chang-sun’s in when he and Mum come home from the club. He’s got this very loud laugh- laughing at nothing, if you know what I mean- and he stands there with his arm round Mum, slurring his words as he tells me to call him Dad. Dad. I wouldn’t call that fat pillock Dad if he was the last guy on earth. And the one thing that really bugs me is the way he leers at mum and comes out with this very suggestive stuff about going to bed and rounding off a decent night. In all the years Dad was with us, I never once knew him to mention sex in my hearing, or even hint at it. This slob leers and winks and nudges with one eye on me to see how I’m taking it. Mum just laughs and shoves him and says ooh, you are a one. It makes me puke.   
He’s changed her. That’s one of the things I hate him for. She used to be one of those quiet people who are satisfied with the daily routine of their lives. She hardly ever went out at night- she didn’t seem to want to. She was wrapped up in her family, I guess. She was always there when you needed her and I think she loved us. Me and Hyungwon, I mean. Oh , I know how it sounds, me going on like this about Mum as though she wasn’t entitled to a life of her own. Of course she’s entitled, but what I’m saying is, why Chang-sun?  
Hyungwon’s my brother, by the way. He’s four years older than me and he always spoiled me, and when good old Chang-sun moved in and Mum starting changing it was Hyungwon who made life bearable for me. It was bad, but I could stand it with him there to support me. Then one night when Mum was working late, something happened between Hyungwon and Chang-sun. I didn’t understand it then and he never told me anything, but I’ve a fair idea now what it must’ve been. Anyway, he said something to Mum and they had this flaming row and it ended with Hyungwon walking out the house. He moved in with his boyfriend Hoseok and I was on my own. I stuck it out till I finished school, but that was it. I’d passed only five subjects, which was a miracle when you remember what was going on at home, but I couldn’t get a job and there’s no government money for school-leavers.  
You’re supposed to be on a training scheme, but there aren’t enough placed and I didn’t get one. I’m sure Mum would’ve supported me till I found something, but it wasn’t long before Chang-sun started on at me about living on his money. I wasn’t living on his money- I’d have topped myself first. It was Mum’s money, but he went on and on, getting nastier and nastier, and one night when I’d been with my friends he locked me out the house. It wasn’t even his house but he locked the door and wouldn’t let Mum open it. I went round to Hyungwon’s and he let me spend the night, and when I got home next morning Chang-sun started slapping me around the head for going off and worrying Mum. If you happen to know anybody who’s looking for a one hundred per cent out-and-out bastard, I can let him have Chang-sun’s address.   
Anyway, that’s how he was with me and I guess Mum’s scared of him because she didn’t stick up for me, so I left. You’d have left too, in my place. Anybody would. It’s called making yourself homeless. And so here I am sitting in this doorway which is now my bedroom, hoping some kind of punter will give me a small bit of cash so I can eat.  
Good, eh?

 

\--------???--------

Daily Routine Orders 2  
I’m getting used to my new name. Breaking it in like a pair of new boots. Good morning, Shelter, I say to the bathroom mirror. Smiling. Good morning, Shelter. You’re a handsome devil but you’re idle. You need a shave. I’ve been writing it, too, on the backs of old envelopes. Shelter. Shelter. Shelter. It’s starting to look like an authentic signature already. I realize of course that all this has precious little to do with recruiting, and perhaps you think I’m stalling. Putting it off.   
Not so. I’m merely indulging myself. After all there’s plenty of time. The street people aren’t going to go away, and anticipation is the best part of a treat, as my old Grannie never used to say. So it’s a case of wait for, you ‘orrible little man.  
\--------2--------

I didn’t come to Seoul straightaway. I may be homeless and unemployed but I’m not stupid. I’d read about Seoul. I knew the streets down there weren’t paved with gold. I knew there were hundreds of people –thousands, in fact- sleeping rough and begging for money. But that’s just the point, see? Where I was I stuck out like a sore thumb because there weren’t many of us. The police round here have gotten used to seeing kids kipping in doorways, and mostly they leave you alone. Back “home” I was getting moved on every hour or so. I was getting no sleep at all, and practically no money. People up there haven’t got used to beggars yet. They’re embarrassed. They’ll make large detours to avoid passing close to you, and if somebody does come within earshot and you ask for change, they look startled and hurry on by.  
Also, I kept seeing people I knew. Neighbours. Guy’s I’d been at school with. I even saw one of my teachers once. And if you’ve never been caught begging by someone who knew you before, you can’t possibly know how low it makes you feel.  
I wasn’t out every night, back then. That was the one good thing about it. Once or twice a week I’d show up at my brother’s for a bath, a meal, and a decent night’s sleep. Trouble was, I was getting scruffier and scruffier, which happens if you sleep in your clothes, and Hoseok, Hyungwon’s boyfriend, got resentful of my visits. He didn’t actually say anything to me, but I could see it in his eyes and hear it in his tone of voice, and I knew Hyungwon must be catching hell from him every time I’d been there. So, what with one thing and another, I decided it was time to move on.  
Sounds good, right? Time to move on. Reminds you of all those old songs about the restless character who hates to stay too long in one place. He meets a girl who falls in love with him, but after a while he hears the old highway calling and so he slings his bed-roll over his shoulder and moved on, leaving the girl to grieve. Dead romantic, eh? Forget it. Sad, is what it is. Sad and scary. You’re leaving a place you know and heading into the unknown with nothing to protect you.   
No money. No prospect of work. No address where folks will make you welcome. You’re going to find yourself living among hard, violent people, some of whom are deranged. You’re going to be at risk every minute, day and night. There are guys so desperate or so crazy, they’ll knife you or batter your head in for your sleeping bag and the won you’ve got in your pocket. There are some who’ll try and get in your sleeping bag with you, because you’re a nice looking boy with soft skin and no stubble. And there’s nowhere you can run to, because nobody cares. Nobody gives a damn. You’re just another dosser, and one dosser more or less makes no difference.


	2. Time to move on

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kihyun takes the train to Seoul. Turns out a naive boy like him isn't always made for the harsh city life...

\--------???--------  
Daily Routine Orders 3  
I’ve been out tonight. I took the tube around Seoul and walked around a bit. Tour of inspection, you might say. And I found them, as I’d known I would. Hundreds of the scruffy things, lying around making the place look manky. I marched along the pavement and there they were, dossing in all the doorways- even the banks and the law courts. One cheeky little faggot – couldn’t have been older than seventeen- actually asked me for money. Have you got any change, he says. I looked him up and down and I said ‘Change? I’d change you, my lad, if I had you in khaki for six weeks.’ It didn’t go in, though. He just smiled and said have a nice night.  
Cracker up his arse, that’s what he wants. That’d wake him up. That, or six weeks at Strensall. National Service. Mandatory in Korea I know. But that was the thing, it brought them all in –the teds, the rockers, the mammy’s boys. And it changed them, my god it changed them. In six weeks. There were no teddy boys on that passing-out parade I can tell you, and no rockers, either. Soldiers, that’s what it made ‘em. There were no exceptions. And that was my mission in life-to turn dirty, scruffy, pimply youths into soldiers. Into men. And I did it, too. Year after year. Yes, and what thanks do I get? I’ll tell you. They chuck me out. Twenty-nine years’ service and they turn around and chuck me out. Medical grounds, it says on the chit. Discharged on medical grounds. And there’s nothing wrong with me. Nothing. I’m fit as a butcher’s dog.  
Medical grounds is just an excuse, of course. I know why they really chucked me out. They chucked me out because their mission in life is exactly the opposite of mine. They think I don’t know that, but I do. They’re all part of the plot, see? There’s a plot – it’s been hatching a long time now- to undermine the country by clogging it up with dosser and junkies and drunks. Some of the top politicians are in it, and civil servants and social workers and even the church. They want to flood the country with winos and crims and down-and-outs and drag it down till it’s no better than some of the filthy holes I’ve served in all these years. They’re powerful, and they’ll stop at nothing. What’s the career of one Sergeant –Major to them? Nothing, that’s what. Nothing.  
They’re not going to stop me, though. Oh, no. They kicked me out of training youth in National Service, and they’ve put me in a position where I can’t turn garbage into men anymore, but I can clean up the garbage, can’t I? They can’t stop me doing that, and I will. By God I will.

 

\--------3--------  
Now- where did we get to? Oh, yes- I remember. Time to move on. I’d applied for loads of jobs in the months since I’d left school. Office work. Supermarkets. Catering. Filling stations- you name it. Most employers wanted experience, and some ads actually said unemployed persons need not apply, which is criminal, in my opinion. I’d started applying in August and I’d had a couple of interviews, but as I said before, sleeping in your clothes makes you look scruffy, and by Christmas I looked like a tramp. I knew nobody was going to take me on looking like that, and I started getting really depressed.  
Christmas didn’t help. I spent it at Hyungwon’s which was kind of him and Hoseok, but it was still the worst Christmas I’d ever had. For a start, there was my present. Hyungwon and Mum had put their money together and got me this sleeping-bag. A really nice one. Quilted, water-proof, the lot. It must have cost a bomb and I knew they only meant to be kind, but it said something to me. It said they thought of me as homeless- as someone who might always be homeless, so he might as well be as comfy as possible. It hurt like hell, but I didn’t let them see. And I’ve got to admit it’s come in handy ever since.  
Anyway, there was that, and then there was Boxing Day. Boxing Day Mum came round, and she brought Chang-sun with her. I can only think that Hyungwon had never told Hoseok the full story about him, or surely Hoseok wouldn’t have had him in the house. Anyway, they came for dinner and stayed till one o’clock next morning, and of course everybody got drunk. Everybody except me. And once he got a skinful, Chang-sun started making cracks about me. The ghost of Christmas past, he called me. Don’t ask why. I was a disgrace, he said, stuffing myself with my sister’s grub. Sitting there with my long hair and tatty clothes, making Mum feel guilty when she had nothing to feel guilty about. I was scrounger, a sponger and layabout, and I ought to be looking for work instead of sitting with a face as long as a fiddle, spoiling everybody’s Christmas.   
It didn’t feel like peace on Earth, I can tell you that. There wasn’t a lot of goodwill toward men floating about. And the worst thing was, nobody stuck up for me. Not even my brother. It was then I knew I’d worn out my welcome, even here. So. On December 28th I borrowed the price of a one-way ticket to Seoul. Hyungwon even came to see me off before I climbed on board with my backpack and my bed-roll. The next hug I got was from a stinky old ciderhead in Myeong-dong when I gave him twenty pence so he’d leave me alone. 

\-------???--------  
Daily Routine Orders 4  
It is 19:00 hours and this has been a most satisfactory day. Most satisfactory. The secret of victory in any campaign is planning and preparation. My planning had been meticulous and my preparations are now complete.  
I have acquired a cat. That was my finishing touch. I can’t abide the arse-licking, hair scattering beats myself, but you have to admit there’s something reassuring about a home with a cat in it. A cat speaks of warmth, comfort, placid domesticity. A man who keeps a cat can’t possibly mean anybody harm, can he?  
I’ve christened it Shownu. A brilliant touch this, suggesting as it does a degree of scholarship in the creature’s owner. I don’t even know whether the thing is male or female and I don’t care- the point being is that a feller with a cat called Shownu is going to project a certain sort of image. Kindly and a bit academic. He might be expected to have a vague conscience about sleeping snug and warm while others live rough. He’ll be a bumbler, but he might be stirred now and then to actually do something about this- to offer grub and a bed for the night to some poor unfortunate soul, no strings attached.   
So it’s Shelter and Shownu. Could be a series on TV, couldn’t it? Shelter and Shownu, otherwise known as The Invincibles. All is ready. Recruiting can now commence.

\--------4--------  
So Seoul it was and Seoul it is. I made loads of mistakes. Most people do, first time in Seoul. Trouble is, once you’ve made them it’s practically impossible to put things right- you’re on the old downward spiral and that’s that. I know you’ve no idea what I’m on about, so listen.  
I arrived in midwinter. Not a good idea. Okay, so things were bad at home. Really bad, and I had to get out. But if I’d known what I know now, I’d have hung in there a bit longer- toughed it out with Hyungwon and Hoseok till March or even April. Spend January night in a shop doorway and you’ll know why. I had a hundred fifty thousand won on me when I got off the train at Seoul Station. It was what was left of my savings, plus a twenty Hyungwon slipped me when Hoseok wasn’t looking. A hundred and fifty. Doesn’t sound bad, does it? It sounded okay to me. My plan was, I’d get a room somewhere. Nothing fancy. A bedsit, and then I’d look for work. Again, nothing fancy. I’d take anything for a start, just until I established myself and could look round properly. I was dead optimistic, see? A babe in arms. It isn’t like that, but I didn’t know.  
I strode out of the station with my backpack and bed-roll, and it felt like a new beginning. This was Seoul, wasn’t it? The centre, where it all happens. It’s big, it’s fast, and it’s full of opportunities. Nobody knows you. Where you’re from and what’s gone before- that’s your business. All that stuff with Chang-sun – it never happened. It’s a clean sheet – you can invent your own past and call yourself anything you chose.  
I made a brilliant start, or so it seemed at the time. I turned right out of the station and started walking. I’d no idea where I was going. I was looking for somewhere to live. The street I was walking up was called Achaseong-gil. I hadn’t gone far when I came to this row of shops under a block of flats. One was a news-agent’s, and there were some postcards stuck on the glass door. I went for a closer look. They were ads, as I’d thought they’d be. Articles for sale. Babysitter wanted. House repairs done cheap. One said ‘B&B, suit working man, rent negotiable.’ The word negotiable was spelt ‘Negoshable,’ and the whole thing looked like a six year old had written it, but I didn’t care. There was an address. I went in the shop and asked directions, and it was back the way I’d come.  
It was a sleazoid place, and rent wasn’t all that “negoshable” either. ‘Fifty thousand a week,’ the guy said. He’d a face like a rat. ‘Fortnight in advance,’ he said, ‘and I’m doing you a favour. Most places want a month.’  
‘I’m looking for work,’ I told him. ‘I haven’t much money. Can we negotiate?’ (I told you I was too optimistic)  
‘Negotiate?’ His voice was a sort of screech. ‘You can negotiate yourself right out of my house, boy, if that’s your attitude. Its fifty thousand a week, take it or leave it.’  
I took it, and that was my second mistake. Oh, I was thankful at the time, don’t think I wasn’t. I’d a place to lay my head and keep out of the weather, and I hadn’t been in Seoul an hour. If I’d have known, though, there were other places I could have tried- places where there’s help and advice and food as well as a bed if you’re lucky enough to get in. But like I said, I didn’t know.  
I looked for work. I really did. First thing next morning I went to the Job Centre. The woman there said I should go to the Careers Office because I wasn’t eighteen. She said I should go to the DSS as well. I went to the Careers office and filled in a form. They asked where I’d come from and I answered. I didn’t want to be too precise in case good old Chang-sun took it into his head to come looking for me. I gave them my new address but it was just like at home- there was no work, and no training places. I went to the DSS and filled in another form. I asked for advice and a guy interviewed me. I told him I had fifty thousand won left after paying two weeks’ rent in advance, and of stuff about why I’d left home. I explained about Chang-sun and Hoseok and all that, and he said they’d have to decide whether I was entitled to anything. It might be several weeks, he said.  
That was when I started to feel nervous. I had a room for two weeks, maximum. I didn’t know much, but I’d a felling rat-face wasn’t the sort who’d wait for money. If I wasn’t earning within a fortnight I’d be out on my own.


	3. Victim number one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The killer has finally made a move and Kihyun struggles to adapt to the harsh street life.

\--------/??--------  
Daily Routine Orders 5  
It’s begun, the recruiting, and it was easy as falling off a log. I didn’t even have to go far. My flat- mine and Shownu’s- is near the centre, and I found my first recruit in a doorway near Seoul station. A mile, if that. Mind you, it was a filthy night. Cold, wet and windy. Cut straight through you, that wind. I was wearing a parks, storm proof overtrousers and strong boots and I was still perished. What he must have felt like in damp, tatty denim I shudder to think. It was 01:30 so he’d probably been there an hour or two, freezing his tabs off, and that’s why he came so easy.  
What I did was, I squatted down in front of him and said ‘What’s up man – down on your luck?’ I smiled as I said this – my best do-gooder smile. I was prepared for a possible rebuff. I mean, he might have been deeply suspicious – thought I was gay or something- but it didn’t seem to cross his mind. Half daft with cold, probably. Anyway, he opened his eyes and looked at me and frowned and mumbled ‘Who are you?’  
He was Chinese. I could hear the foreign accent.  
‘Me?’ I gave him a smile again. ‘Shelter’s my name. I help run the hostel in Gangnam.’  
That got him. ‘Hostel?’ he says. ‘What sort of hostel?’ ‘For young people,’ I said. ‘The townhouse project. You might have heard of us.’ He wouldn’t because we didn’t exist. I’d made the whole thing up – name and everything. Part of my preparation. He fell for it. Hook, line and sinker.  
‘Any chance of a bed?’ he says. ‘Bite to eat?’ I shook my head- a rueful gesture I’d practised in the mirror. ‘Not tonight, I’m afraid. Full up. Might be something tomorrow if you get there early.’  
‘Ah,’ he says, and the light goes out of his eyes. He’s thinking about the long cold hours ahead. I let him ponder the prospect for a bit, then said, casual like, ‘There’s a comfy couch at my place if you don’t mind roughing it.’ Roughing it. Brilliant touch, that, and it worked.  
‘You sure?’ he says. The light’s back, and I can see his little brain working. He’s thinking, this guy runs a hostel. Warm beds. Grub. It gets full, but if I’m with him I’m in right? ‘You sure?’ he says. I gave him the smile again.  
‘Sure. No problem. It’s just round the corner. Come on.’  
And that’s all there was to it. I strode out and he trotted at my heels like a ruddy poodle. It was pissing it down and he was sodden by the time we reached the flat. I introduced Shownu, showed him the bathroom, told him to strip off, threw in some stuff I’d got for the purpose – thick sweaters, cord trousers – the sort of stuff do-gooders wear – and went off to heat some tomato soup, and while he was sitting on the sofa scoffing it I slipped up behind him and put him out of his misery.  
Cruel? I don’t think so. He’s neither cold nor hungry now. Nobody wanted him, and there’s one less dosser to clutter up the place.  
Who loses?  
\--------5--------  
I’d seen lots of movies where the character who’s on the road picks up casual work in towns he’s passing through. Washing dishes. Cutting firewood. Sweeping. I couldn’t believe that in a city the size of Seoul it might be impossible for a guy to find that sort of work. I mean, the place is packed with restaurants, cafes and kebab houses, not counting all the bars and nightclubs. During my two weeks in that dingy room I must’ve tried two hundred of them, starting with those in the Itaewon-dong area. I got nowhere. Nowhere at all. As the days passed I widened the area of my search and by half-way through the second week I’d been as far north as Songhyeon-dong. I’d tramped the narrow streets and the boulevards from early morning across Seoul (I thought potential employers might be impressed by my willingness to be out and about early) till late at night. I’d offered my services in sleazy greasy cafes and posh hostels and everything in between till my feet felt bruised and I could hardly drag myself out of bed in the morning.  
I walked everywhere to save money. I lived on cheese rolls and coffee, but I was down to a only a few hundred won and some change when rat-face came for his rent. It was Friday night. Eight o’clock. I’d just got in. The room was freezing cold and I was treating myself to a quick burst of the cash gobbling electric fire before bed when there was this knock on the door. I opened up and it was him. He said two words, ‘Evening,’ and ‘Rent.’ I looked at him. ‘It’s only Friday,’ I said. ‘I’m paid on till Monday.’ He shook his head. ‘Friday’s rent day, sunshine.’  
‘But I moved in on a Monday,’ I protested. ‘And paid two weeks. That makes the room mine till Sunday night.’ He moved so quickly I hadn’t time to step back. One second there was a yard of space between us, and the next he had a bunch of my shirt in his fist and his face was an inch from mine. ‘Listen sunshine,’ he hissed. ‘The room’s mine. I make the rules around here and the rent’s due. I f you’ve got it, pay up. If you haven’t I’ll give you five minutes to pack your stuff and get out.’ He shoved me and followed me in, leaving the door open. I tried to reason with him – told him I was waiting a decision by the DSS. He laughed. ‘You’re waiting, son,’ He snarled. ‘I’m not.’ I said I was looking for work and pointed out that I’d been quiet and kept the room tidy. I didn’t know what I was saying, really, I was that desperate, but it was no good. He told me to pack my bag and stood there with his arms folded while I did it. When I’d finished I brushed past him on my way to the door and said, ‘I’ll have you for this. Sooner or later, one way or another I’ll have you.’ His laughter rang in my ears as I went down the stairs.  
And that’s how I came to join them – the homeless kids I’d seen everywhere on my travels. The kids I’d given change to a week ago when I’d thought things were bounds to work out. I was one of them now – poised at the top of that downward spiral. 

\--------//?--------  
Daily Routine Orders 6  
Time for a brief discourse on the subject of killing. Killing humans. Murder, not to put too fine a point on it.  
Oh yes, that’s what they’d call it. If they ever found out about it, which they won’t. Murder. The deliberate killing by a human being of another human being. But you see, I was trained to kill. As a soldier, it was my chief function to kill, waste, do in – whatever you want to call it – those among my fellow humans whose activities happened to displease the powers that be in my country. And this is where the confusion arises. This is where distinctions get a bit blurred. The killing by a soldier of the enemies of his country is not murder. They don’t jail you for it. In fact, if you do it really well they give you a medal. So why, if I’m disposing of these druggy dossers whose activities are dragging the country down, am I a murderer?  
It’s all nonsense. I’m not a murderer at all – I’m a soldier out of uniform, killing for his country. Trouble is, is that because my country doesn’t spprove, the whole thing becomes a hole-in-the-corner affair. You’ve got to hide what you’re doing, and that brings us to the hard part, which is the DISPOSING OF THE BODY. You see, soldiers – soldiers in uniform – don’t have this problem. They don’t have to conceal the bodies of their victims. Quite the reverse in fact. They lay them out in rows, count them, take snapshots of them, like shooting parties used to do with pheasants. Only difference is they don’t eat them. They shove them in a big hole and bury them and that’s that. No problem. Everyone knows they’re there, nobody cares. But if you’re out of uniform, like me – if you’re what they call a murderer – you’ve got to get rid of the body, and that’s a real worry, because, believe it or not, it’s far and away the hardest bit of the whole job.  
Killing’s easy. Dead easy. Especially if you’ve been trained to do it, though of course anyone can do it if they put their mind to it, but more murderers have come unstuck because they made a mess of disposing of the body than through any other cause. It’s a fact. Everything’s been tried. Acid baths. Dismemberment. Cement boots and a deep river. Everything. And more often than not it’s no use – the body (or parts of it) turns up sooner or later and the killer is caught. I won’t be. No. Because unlike most so-called murderers, I’ve planned in advance. My flat’s on the ground floor, and there’s a handy little space – quite a big space, actually – under the floorboards. It’s beautifully ventilated – stick your hand down there and you feel the draught – so it’ll stay cool, even on the warmest day. That’s important. I won’t go into why because it’s not a pleasant subject – let’s just say bodies in a warm place have a way of betraying their presence after a day or two. So – I’ve got this place – I like to think of it as my built-in refrigerator – and that’s where our little friend of last night now lies. As I have said, he doesn’t feel the cold, nor is he cluttering up anyone’s doorway. The whole thing’s so much tidier, don’t you think?

 

\--------6--------  
I found a doorway. A good deep one, so deep that light from street-lamps and shop fronts didn’t reach the door itself and you could sit with your back against it and not be seen by passers-by. It was nine o’clock, and cold. I sat on my bed-roll with my backpack between my feet, watching the bright narrow rectangle of movement and colour at the end of my little tunnel. People passed continuously but nobody glanced my way. Nobody knew I was there. Across the street I could see subway railings with a news-vendor’s pitch, a road junction and part of Seoul Station. I sat thinking about my rat-faced former landlord who couldn’t spell negotiation – about how one day I’d catch him unawares in a dark alleyway, and about the inventive and wondrous things I’d do to him there. I was angry and a bit shaken, I suppose but I wasn’t particularly unhappy. Not then.  
My anonymity was a comfort – at least I wasn’t going to been seen by people who knew me. Also, I was one among many. My plight could have no curiosity value for anybody who might spot me. And there was no further need to fret about next week’s rent. I felt- free, I suppose. This was before, I became acquainted with some of the setbacks, like hunger pangs and real cold and the problem of what to do when you have to go to the toilet and guard your bedroom at the same time. It was this last one which got me first and lost me my doorway and more besides.  
As I’ve said, I found my lovely doorway around nine o’clock, and for a time it was okay sitting there watching the world go by. In fact it was quite pleasant in a way. But by eleven my feet and legs were cold, I was tired, my bed-roll was giving me a numb bum and I was dying for a pee. I saw no problem, though. The station was just across the way. There’d be toilets in there somewhere. All I had to do was stroll across. The numbness would go and the walk would warm me up. ‘Course I’d have to take my stuff. If I left it back here in the dark it might be all right, but you can’t take that sort of chance when your bed-roll and backpack are all you have in the world. So.  
Quarter past eleven I got up and toted my stuff across the station. The Men’s toilets turned out to be half-way down platform one, but there was no barrier so I motored on down, passing some down-and-outs sitting on benches. The place was underground. I trotted down the steps, beginning to relax like you do when you know relief is imminent, and hit snag one. At the foot of the stairs was a turnstile. 138 won. I dropped my roll and fished in my pockets. A fifty, two twenties, and a couple of coins. No tens. There was a glass box – a sort of office, so there must be an attendant. I called out, ‘Excuse me?’ My predicament was becoming acute. There was no answer. Nothing stirred. I glanced all round, chucked my roll over the stile and followed it.  
The relief was terrific. Half-way through, the door of a cubicle opened and out popped a runty little guy of about fifty with a peaked cap and a cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth. ‘ Here,’ he croaked ‘Have you paid?’ ‘N-no,’ I stammered. He’d made me splash my trainers. ‘I haven’t got’  
‘I don’t give a toss what you haven’t got, son.’ He was really horse – a sixty-a-day man. I could probably push him over with one hand. I’d been about to ask him to change twenty won, but his attitude upset me. I decided I’d vault the stile and save myself some cash. ‘I’ve no money,’ I told him, zipping up. He stood in front of the turnstile. ‘You don’t leave till you’ve paid.’ He cig wagged up and down as he spoke, sifting ash down his front. I looked at him. ‘Get out of the way, old man.’ He shook his head. More ash. I moved towards him, swinging my roll. He dodged and swung an inept punch at my head. I ducked, shoved him aside and vaulted the stile. I felt terrific – streetwise and tough – but I daren’t linger in the station. I pictured him in his glass box, phoning the railway police. I hurried back up the platform and out to the street.  
When I got back to my doorway somebody was there. I didn’t see him till I kicked his foot. He leapt up. A six-footer, as wide as the door. ‘What’s yer problem, wack?’ ‘I- I was here first.’ God, what a stupid thing to say. He poked me in the chest. ‘Sod off, kiddo, before I drop yer.’ ‘But I’ve been here two hours,’ I protested. ‘I just went in the station for a –‘  
‘Sod off – now!’  
I knew I’d have to go, too. This was no chain-smoking runt you could knock down with a feather. This guy was what I’d been kidding myself I’d become – a streetwise tough. I turned away with a lump in my throat. I felt like I’d spend the rest of my life being pushed around. ‘It’s not fair,’ I choked. What a wally I was. Fair! If I’d gone straight away he might not have spotted the watch on my wrist, but he did. He grabbed my sleeve. ‘Nice watch, give it.’ ‘No1’ The watch was my last treasure – a present from Mum before Chang-sun came on the scene. I tried to pull away but he tightened his grip. ‘Give it, if you don’t want your face smashed in.’ I thought about calling for help. There were plenty of people passing, but I guess I knew it would do no good. Who’s going to risk a fist or a knife to help a dosser? I took off the watch and handed it over. It was a struggle not to burst into tears. He grinned. ‘Ta, wack. Very nice of yer. Now piss off.’  
I went.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More british slang terms. Yay!  
> * give a toss = care about something  
> *wack = crazy  
> *sod off = piss off  
> *wally= moron/stupid  
> Updates will be every day/two days!!! Remember to check :D


	4. You've got a friend in me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The killer strikes again and Kihyun makes an unexpected friendship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning : this chapter does contain some midly suggestive stuff but nothing graphic so don't worry :D just thought I should let some people know just in case. Enjoy!!!

\--------//?--------

Daily Routine Orders 7  
It’s like parachuting. Get the first jump over and it becomes routine, but you mustn’t get complacent. Check your equipment every time. Run through procedures. Know what’s what. Don’t fall into any traps.  
There’s a trap serial killers fall into, namely, the trap of pattern. There’s something the same about each of their killings, and this tells the law that it’s the same person doing them. It also helps the police by saying something about the killer. For example, if all his victims are Mexican they know they’re probably looking for someone who hates Mexicans. If all the bodies are found in underground stations, they’re after someone who hangs around underground stations. It’s a trap, see? A trap of the killer’s own making, because it narrows the field.  
I’ve got to be particularly careful about this. I can’t help making a pattern, because all of my clients are homeless. Bound to be. Of course, they’re not going to find bodies, in underground stations or anywhere else. I’m not daft. But there is this unavoidable pattern, so what I have to do is create as much variety as possible without straying beyond the borders of my appointed task. Last night’s piece of business differed from it’s predecessor in several aspects. For one thing, my client was female. I didn’t select her because I like women, or because I hate them. I can take them or leave them, as a matter of fact. I chose her because the last one was a male, that’s all. And I didn’t pick her up by the same spot, because that’s another pattern. I rode down to Gangnam and strolled around Seolleung, and I spotted her coming out of a hotel. Manky, she was – you could see the grime on her neck from across the road – and there she was, steeping out of the hotel like a bleeding duchess or something. She’d sneaked in to use the toilet of course, but how she’d got past security I didn’t know. Anyway, I let her get a little way down the road before tapping her on the shoulder.  
‘Excuse me.’ She spun around.  
‘Y-yes?’  
‘Hotel security.’ I snapped. ‘Ramada hotel.’ Well. I looked the part in my suit and trench coat. ‘You were in the hotel just now, weren’t you?’ She nodded. There was a look in her eyes like a hunted animal. ‘Yes I went to the toilet. Why?’  
‘There’s been a series of thefts. I’m afraid I must ask you to return with me to the hotel.’  
‘Thefts?’ She looked desperate. ‘I don’t know anything about thefts. I told you – I needed the toilet. I was only there for a minute.’ Poor cow. Looking as she did, she must have stuck out like a sore thumb in there. She wouldn’t have lasted long enough to commit theft. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘But you must come with me and answer some questions. It won’t take long.’  
‘Oh, God!’ She bit her lip. ‘Look – I’m in enough trouble as it is’ I’m homeless. I have no job and money. I’ve nothing on me. Can’t you just search me or something and let me go?’  
She was close to tears, as they say in the bodice-rippers. I judged it was time to pull my master stroke. I eyed her up and down, speculatively. ‘Hmm. Wouldn’t mind searching you, at that,’ I purred. ‘Homeless, you say?’ She nodded. I could see the dawn of hope in her eyes.  
‘Nasty night too. How’d you fancy spending it in a cosy flat?’ I was brilliant. ‘Nice warm bed?’  
‘What do you mean?’ She knew what I meant. I smiled and she said. ‘You mean you want e to--?’  
I shrugged. ‘It was just a though, petal. You get off the hook as a suspect and I get—‘ I smiled again. She hesitated, but it didn’t take her long to se how poor her alternatives were. She probably believed I’d fit her up on a theft charge if she opted to come the puritan. She nodded, looking own, and mumbled ‘Okay.’  
The rest was simple. Taxi back to my place. Shownu. Dry clothing. Tomato soup. Eternal Oblivion. They look so sweet, the two of them side by side, that I keep going down for another look. I must be getting soft.

\--------7--------  
I trudged along Seolleung road, peering into doorways and the entrances to office blocks. My left wrist felt naked without the watch and I added the muscle pig to my hit list. Rat-face and the muscle pig. I was going to turn into a serial killer if I went on at this rate. After a bit I came to a doorway which was both deep and unoccupied. I dodged into it and stood there, wondering whether I dare doss down. What if this was somebody’s bedroom too? Somebody big, like muscle pig? Suppose he showed up and took a fancy to my pack, my bed-roll, and demanded them? Or her might just knife me and take them. On the other hand it was now pretty late, though of course I didn’t know what time exactly. Surely, I told myself, if somebody dossed here regularly he’d be here by now? Anyways, I was dead tired. I had to get my head down somewhere, and wherever I went there was going to be this same doubt. So.  
I’d just wriggled into my sleeping-bag and dropped my head on my pack when he arrived. I heard these footsteps and thought, keep going. Go past. Please go past, but he didn’t. The footsteps stopped and I knew he was looking down at me. I opened my eyes. H e was just a shadow framed in the doorway. ‘This is your place?’ I croaked. Stupid question. He was going to say yes even if it wasn’t, right? What I should have said was piss off. I wondered how big he was. ‘ No, you’re alright, man.’ He sounded laid back, amiable. ‘Just shove up a bit so I can spread my roll.’ I obliged and he settled himself beside me, so close we were almost touching. It felt good to be with someone. Now, if anybody else turned up it wouldn’t matter. There were two of us. I felt I ought to say something so I said, ‘Been doing this long?’ hoping he wouldn’t be offended.  
‘Six, seven months,’ he said. ‘You?’  
‘First night.’  
He chuckled. ‘I can tell. Where are you from?’  
‘Up north.’  
‘Gwangju me’  
‘I can tell.’ It was a risk, this crack about his accent, but he only chuckled again. ‘Name’s Minhyuk,’ he said, and waited. I didn’t want to give my name. Not to anybody. Clean break, right? Fresh start. However something about this guy seemed trustworthy, almost friend-like.  
‘Kihyun,’ I said.  
‘Oh really?’ he replied, voice taking on a playful lilt. ‘Got a cigarette on you, Kihyun?’  
‘Don’t smoke.’ For once I wished I did.  
He laughed again. ‘You will.’  
‘How d’you mean?’  
‘Been hungry, have you? I mean, really hungry?’  
‘No.’  
‘No. Well, when you are, smoking helps. Dulls the pain a bit.’  
‘Ah. You hungry now, Minhyuk?’  
‘Bit. Why – you got food?’  
‘Got a Snicker in my pack. D’you want it?’  
‘Don’t you?’  
‘No. Not hungry .’ This wasn’t completely trye, but I though perhaps I’d found a friend and I wanted to hang on to him. I opened my pack and groped about till I found the bar. ‘Here.’  
‘Thanks man. Sure you don’t want it?’  
‘No.’  
‘Half?’  
‘No – you eat it.’ I buckled my pack and lay with my eyes closed, listening to him eat. He was pretty hungry at that. You could tell. When he’s finished he said, ‘That’s better. Goodnight, Kihyun.’  
‘Night, Minhyuk.’  
And that’s how I met Minhyuk.  
I must have slept, because the next thing I knew somebody was nudging me none too gently in the back, saying ‘Come on, sunshine – let’s have you.’ I opened my eyes and instantly screwed them shut as torchlight lanced into them. My first thought was the Minhyuk had changed his mind and wanted me out of his bedroom, but then my mind cleared and I knew it was the police. I sat up. It was still dark, and bitterly cold as I began to peel off my sleeping-bag. There were two officers – a man and a woman. Once they’d got us awake they stood back and watched while we rolled our bags and strapped them to our packs. ‘Don’t forget that,’ grunted the guy, shining his torch on the screwed-up wrapper from my Snicker. Minhyuk picked it up and shove it in his pocket. I thought they were going to arrest us or something, but as soon as we were packed and on our feet they moved off, shining their torches into doorways as they went.  
‘What time is it?’ I asked as we stood, dazed with cold and sleep in the orange light of a street lamp. Minhyuk shook his head. ‘Dunno. About six, probably.’  
‘Why’d they do that? Get us up, I mean.’  
‘Why?’ He grimaced. ‘We were in somebody’s doorway. Wouldn’t do for the owner or tenant or whatever to find us here when he came to open up, would it?’  
I couldn’t think of any answer to that, so I said, ‘What now?’  
He looked at me. ‘You got any money?’  
I nodded. ‘Few won and some change.’  
‘Fancy a coffee – a bite to eat?’  
‘Not half.’ I was starving. ‘You?’  
He smiled. ‘You don’t have to feed me, you know, just ‘cause we shared a doorway. Folks like us, we’ve got to look after number one. And don’t tell anybody else you’ve got some won or you won’t have it long.’  
We went to an all-night kebab house he knew about. It was warm and glaringly bright inside and smelled so good I practically drooled. The clock on the wall said 06:20. We were the only customers. We bolted doner and slurped coffee and talked. Minhyuk asked me what I planned to do. I told him I was looking for work while waiting for the DSS to come to a decision about my case. When I told him what I’d told them about my circumstances he shook his head. ‘Waste of time, I’m telling ya. Forgone conclusion. They’ll say you made yourself homeless ‘cause you left your mum’s place voluntarily.’  
‘You mean I’ll get no benefit – nothing?’  
‘Not a penny, you can take it from me. I’ve seen it happen to many times.’  
‘But – if I don’t find work – if it takes a while – how am I supposed to live?’  
He laughed. ‘Any way you can, Kihyun my ma. Nobody cares, see? Nobody gives a toss. That’s the first thing you’ve gotta learn.’ He smiled. ‘Why’d you think so many kids beg on the streets? ‘Cause they like it?’  
I shook my head. ‘Is that what you do – beg?’  
‘Yep. All day, every day. And sometimes I don’t make the price of a sandwich.’  
‘Do-do most people refuse, then?’  
‘Oh, yeah.’ He smiled again. ‘Do you know what a solcredulist is?’  
‘No.’  
‘A solcredulist is someone who believes what he reads in the Sun*. And do you know what the Sun says- the sun and three or four other tabloids?’  
I shook my head.  
‘Well, I’ll tell you. They say us kids aren’t homeless at all. They say we trick the public out of their money all day and go home to our mums at night with forty thousand, fifty thousand won in our pockets, and it all goes on drink and drugs.’  
‘They don’t?’  
‘They f****ing do, you know. And the solcredulists believe them, and all. That’s why they refuse.’  
‘But it’s a lie’ I cried. ‘There ought to be a law against it.’  
‘True.’ He laughed. ‘There won’t be, though. It’s what they call freedom of the press.’  
I looked at him. ‘So when my money runs out. I’ll be begging too, huh?’  
‘I wouldn’t wait till it runs out. Like I said, some days you’ll make almost nothing. I’d start today if I was you.’  
We lingered in the warmth till breakfast-time customers began drifting in and the proprietor started giving us dirty looks. ‘Come on,’ said Minhyuk, ‘We don’t want to outstay our welcome or he’ll bar us.’ He got up and shouldered his pack. ‘There’s a nice wash-room through the back here. I’ll show you.’ We used the washroom and left the kebab house just as it was starting to get light. I tagged along with Minhyuk through the early rush, hoping he’d let me stick with him today. I’d a feeling he knew a lot of stuff I’d need to learn if I was to survive in this great, cold jungle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weird terms used in this chapter=
> 
> *the sun= a dodgy British newspaper (cause I don't know any korean ones lol)  
> *solcredulist = someone who believes everything they read in the papers
> 
> Hope your enjoying the fic so far and sorry for and spelling and grammar mistakes. I was in a rush ^^


	5. Learning to adjust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pretty much just a filler chapter to progress the story/plot a bit more. Any ideas who 'Shelter' is btw?? Enjoy!

\--------8--------  
It was a raw morning with a sneaky wind which came out of side streets and went right through you. I thought Minhyuk was looking for a good spot to sit – somewhere out of the wind with plenty of passers-by, but we just kept walking. We were going south and I thought, I wish we could keep walking until we ended up somewhere warm and sunny – maybe another country like Spain or North Africa. After a while I said, ‘Where are we going?’ and he said, ‘Don’t matter. This weather, gotta keep moving.’  
It was daylight now and there were plenty of people about. I started noticing how a lot of them would alter course so they wouldn’t pass too close to us. Now and then Minhyuk would change course too and intercept some guy. ‘Got any spare cash?’ he’d ask, and nearly always the guy would go on by without giving anything. For something to do, I began studying their various response. Some would simply walk on glassy-eyes and expressionless, as though Minhyuk wasn’t there. Some assumed angry expressions, compressing their lips and sweeping by as though grossly insulted. There were head-shakers, pocket-patters and shruggers, who demonstrated through mime the absence of money in their pockets; and there were those who’d mutter unintelligibly, so that you couldn’t tell whether they’d say sorry no change or f***k off. Once Minhyuk accosted a stiff, military looking guy who stopped, looked him up and down as if he was something the cat sicked up and said ‘Change? I’d change you my lad, if I had you in khaki for six weeks.’ There were lots of solcredulists about.   
Now and then though, somebody would fork out a few won. The givers came in two types – the disdainful and the apologetic. The disdainful type would look down his nose at you, fish in his pocket, drop some cash in your hand saying ‘There’, and move with his head in the air. The apologetic type would look embarrassed and fumble out a fistful of coins, saying something like. ‘I’m sorry – this is all I have,’ or ‘Sorry, but you see I gave earlier – a young man in a doorway.’ He’d dump the money in Minhyuk’s hand without looking to see how much there was and smile apologetically as he moved off. One such giver glanced at me with a worried expression, as though wondering whether he should have given to me, too.  
We covered some miles that morning, trudging half frozen down Oksu-Dong towards the centre of it all. We crossed the manic streets and set off till Minhyuk stopped and nodded at some fancy iron gates and said, ‘Here we are, man.’   
‘Looks like a church,’ I said.  
He chuckled. ‘It is. St James’s. We can take the weight off our feet, get out of this wind.’  
‘Will they let us?’  
‘Yeah. You can get your head down in a pew if you want, in the daytime. Locked at night, though.’  
We went in. It was lovely inside – white and gold and clean-looking, with vases of flowers and polished woodwork. The only person in there was a battered wino who sat hunched in a pew near the back, muttering to himself. He took no notice of us as we walked down the aisle, slipped into a pew and shrugged off our packs. It was a relief to sit down, and great to be out of the icy wind. I was amazed we’d been able to walk in like that. I felt like I was there under false pretences and wondered if I should pray or something, but Minhyuk winked and grimaced and started counting the change he’d collected.  
‘One hundred thousand won and some change,’ he announced. ‘And a peso. We can have hobbang for lunch, Kihyun. They do outstanding hobbang here uhmook too.’  
‘Here?’ I thought he was joking with me.  
‘Oh, yes. There’s a stall tagged on the side.’  
‘Never.’  
‘There is. Go look if you don’t believe me.’  
I shook my head. ‘You’re the expert. I believe you, only that’s your money, not mine. I didn’t do a thing.’ He looked at me. ‘Who paid for breakfast/’  
‘Well I did, but-’  
‘Not buts, I pay, you fetch.’ He smiled. ‘You look more respectable than me. They’ll take you for a tourist.’  
There was a stall/cart, and they did do outstanding hobbang. We ate in church, which felt disrespectful, but I eased my conscience by telling myself that Jesus ate in people’s houses so he wouldn’t mind if someone ate in His. I was happy, I guess, right then. I had a friend, a full stomach and a roof over my head. Who could ask for more?

\--------//?--------  
Daily Routine Orders 8  
It has happened again. I was on my way to inspect theatreland when two dossers approached me. One - the scruffier of the two – asked me for change. I responded in my usual way, and as I passed on I distinctly heard them laughing. I hope for their sakes that they manage to retain that sense of humour because they’ll need it quite soon. I never forget a face, and our next meeting will prove far more amusing for me than for them.  
By God it will.

\--------9--------  
We sat in St James’s till two o’clock. It wasn’t warm but we were out of the wind. Then Minhyuk said, ‘I’m gonna try out Myeong-Dong again. You coming?’ I nodded. ‘If it’s okay with you. It’s time I had a go at getting some cash by myself, but I’ll feel better if you’re somewhere around.’ He nodded. ‘Fair enough. Tell you what – you try outside the Art Gallery. It’s not exactly tourist season but there are always people about, and you can see into the square from the steps.’

We walked back along the ugly concrete streets, down the market and along into Myeong-Dong. The Gallery wasn’t fantastically busy but there was a steady trickle of people going in and out. Some were sitting on the steps in spite of the cold. Minhyuk left me there. I watched him merge with the crowd, the turned my attention to the business of the day. It was hard at first. Really hard. I stood, watching people pass, trying to spot a likely giver. God knows what I was looking for – a kind face, I suppose, or at least someone who didn’t look as though he’d swear or punch me in the mouth. It was futile of course. You can’t read people’s characters in their faces. You never know what a person’s reaction is going to be, but I didn’t know that then. Finally, I steeled myself and asked a guy at random. He growled ‘Not a chance,’ and bounded up the steps, taking two at a time. I wasted the next five minutes feeling hurt. Rejected. I asked myself how it was possible for a person to be so sensitive to the beauty of fine art, and at the same time insensitive to the feelings of a fellow creature. I took it personally, which is fatal. After a while I realized this and began choosing guys and women at random, expecting nothing, telling them to have a nice day whether they gave or refused. I blunted the point of my own sensitivity in the flinty soil of their indifference till I too became indifferent, and after that it was easier.

I worked till the Gallery closed, standing sometimes, sometimes sitting on the steps. My feet became numb and I was half frozen but I stuck at it, and when the place closed at dusk and the punters drifted away I counted up and found I’d collected just under 4000 won. I stumped across the street and found Minhyuk slumped on a bench. He looked up as I approached.  
‘How’d it go?’  
I shrugged. ‘Three thousand and eighty-one won. You?’  
‘Two thousand forty-four and I’m frozen to the bone. Let’s eat.’  
We got pizza slices this time along with some coke. When Minhyuk wasn’t looking I bought a pack of cigarettes and a cheap lighter and gave them to him. He said, ‘You’re crazy man. You don’t even smoke.’ I was just glad of his company, but I didn’t say so. In the evening the wind strengthened and sleet began to fall, except that it didn’t fall – it rode the wind in horizontal lines, flaying foreheads and cheeks. I wished we were back in the church but Minhyuk said it’d be locked now. We ended up in the doorway of a shop called China-craft, huddled in our bags, waiting for the Theatre to close. ‘Over there,’ said Minhyuk through chattering teeth, ‘are some alcoves, right? Deep ones. Good spot, only you’ve got to be there early.’  
He lit a cigarette, took a deep drag and passed it to me. I hesitated and he chuckled, exhaling smoke. ‘Go on – might as well. You’ll not see sixty anyway, dossing in doorways.’ I took a drag and started choking, and he laughed. ‘See what I mean?’ he said. ‘You’re half-way there already.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm finally back!!! I feel incredibly guilty for leaving this fic for so long as per usual life got in the way '^^. Anyways, updates should get faster and I hope you enjoy :D (also please ignore spelling and grammer mistakes cause I never read over my work lol)


	6. Times of trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've recently had some ideas for this fic and am thinking I'll probably make the relationships minor (change the tags etc.) As I think homelessness is often ignored or downplayed I want to focus more on the struggles that Kihyun will face rather than a romantic relationship. Sorry for those of you who were hoping for a mega love story (not my style >.<) There will be some romance tho don't worry. Anyways, enjoy!

\--------10--------

If you think sleeping rough’s just a matter of finding a dry spot where the police won’t move you on and getting your head down, you’re wrong. Not your fault of course – if you’ve never tried it you’ve no way of knowing what it’s like, so what I thought I’d do was sort of talk you through a typical night. That night in the alcove won’t do, because there were two of us and it’s worse if you’re by yourself.   
So you pick your spot. Wherever it is (unless you’re in a squat or a derelict house or something) it’s going to have a floor of stone, tile, concrete or brick. In other words it’s going to be a bit cramped, too – shop doorways often are. And remember, if it’s winter you’re going to be half frozen before you even start. Anyway you’ve got your place, and if you’re lucky enough to have a sleeping-bag you unroll it and get in. Settled for the night? Well maybe, maybe not. Remember my first night? The muscle pig? ‘Course you do. He kicked me out of my bed-room and stole my watch. Well, that sort of thing can happen any night, and there are worse things. You could be peed on by a drunk or a dog. Happens all the time – one man’s bedroom is another man’s lavatory. You might be spotted by a gang on the look-out for someone to maim. That happens all the time too, and if they get carried away you can end up dead. There are the guys who like young boys, who think because you’re homeless you’ll do anything for money, and there’s the psycho who’ll knife you for your pack. So, you lie listening. You bet you do. Foot-steps. Voices. Breathing, even. Doesn’t help you sleep.

Then there’s your bruises. What bruises? Try lying on a stone floor for half an hour. Just half an hour. You can choose any position you like, and you can change position as often as you wish. You won’t find it comfy, I can tell you. You won’t sleep unless you’re dead drunk or high on drugs. And if you are, and do, you’re going to wake up with bruises on hips, shoulders, elbows, ankles and knees – especially if you’re a bit thin from not eating properly. And if you do that six hours a night for six nights you’ll feel like you fell out of a train. Try sleeping on concrete then.  
And don’t forget the cold. I f you’ve ever tried dropping off to sleep with cold feet, even in bed, you’ll know it’s impossible. You’ve got to warm up those feet, or lie awake. And in January, in a doorway, in wet trainers, it can be quite a struggle. And if you manage it, chances are you’ll need to get up for a pee, and then it starts all over again. And those are only some of the hassles. I haven’t mentioned stomach cramps from hunger, headaches from the flu, toothache, fleas and lice. I haven’t talked about homesickness, depression or despair. I haven’t gone into how it feels to want a girl-friend (or in my case boyfriend) when your circumstances make it virtually impossible for you to get one – how it feels to know you’re a social outcast in fact, a non-person to whom every ordinary everyday activity is closed.

So. You lie on your bruises, listening. Trying to warm your feet. You curl up on your side and your hip hurts, so you stretch out on your back so your feet stay cold and the concrete hurts your heels. You force yourself to lie still for a bit, thinking that’ll help you drop off, but it doesn’t. Your pack feels like a rock under your head and your nose is cold. You wonder what time it is. Can you stop listening now, or could someone still come? Distant chimes. You strain your ears, counting. One o’clock? It can’t be only one o’clock, surely? I’ve been here hours. Did I miss a chime? What’s that? Sounds like breathing. Heavy breathing, as in maniac. Lie still. Quiet. Maybe he won’t see you. Listen. Is he still there? Silence now. Creeping up, perhaps. No. Relax. Jeez, my feet are cold. 

A thought out of nowhere – my old room at home. My little bed. What I wouldn’t give for – no, mustn’t. Mustn’t think about that.. No sleep that way. Somebody could be asleep in that room right now. Warm and dry. Safe. Lucky. Food. God, don’t start on about food! (Remember that time in Busan – fish and ramen? Long, sizzling haddock, heap of fries too like a mountain. So many, you had to leave some.)  
Wish I had them now.  
Mum. Wonder what Mum’s doing? Wonder if she knows where I am? How would she feel if she knew? I miss you, Mum. Do you miss me? Does anybody?  
Chimes again. Quarter past. Quarter past one/ I don’t believe it. DSS. Are they considering my claim? (Not now they’re not – they’re sleeping. Safe and sound.) Do they know what it feels like, skipping in a doorway? No. And so ir goes on, hour after hour. Now and then you doze a bit, but only for a bit. You’re socold, so frightened and it hurts so much that you end up praying for morning even though you’re dead tired – even though tomorrow is certain to be every bit as grim as yesterday.   
And the worst part is knowing you haven’t deserved any of it.

I walked all the way back to the Job Centre the next morning and Minhyuk was right. I was seen by this guy who told me they’d decided I’d made myself homeless so I wasn’t eligible for benefit. I hadn’t intended on spilling my life-story but I did then. I was dirty, cold and hungry and my feet were killing me. I was so tired I could hardly sting a coherent sentence together. I’d had enough, so I told him everything - Chang-sun and Mum, Chang-sun and Hyungwon, Chang-sun and me. I thought he’d see –thought he’d understand why I could never go back into that situation, but I might as well have been talking to a brick wall. He just sat there looking at me through his blue-tinted specs, and when I’d finished he repeated word for word and without facial expression what he’d said to me before.

I’d arranged to meet Minhyuk by a statute outside the giant park. The weather was vile and I hadn’t the heart for another long walk so I got the tube and rode down to meet him. I was early and he wasn’t there, so I spent a miserable couple of hours begging beside a small river that ran through the greenery, getting colder and wetter and nothing else. In the end I gave up and went and sat under a bridge in an icy draught. Minhyuk had given me two cigarettes, so I cadged a light and smoked them both, lighting the second off the first. I was starving and the smoke made me nauseous, but it was comforting, too, in a way I couldn’t be bothered thinking about. When the cig’s were gone I counted my money and found that I was down to less than 4,000 won. I was desperate for something to eat and also needed the toilet, so I set off hoping to find a hot-dog stand or something. I found a public toilet easily enough and washing my hands and face made me feel a bit better, but I didn’t find any food. 

I trailed back to the statue and this time Minhyuk was there, sitting on his pack with a dustbin bag draped over his head and shoulders. ‘Like the new outfit,’ I said.  
‘Fetching, isn’t it?’ He got up and gave me a twirl. ‘Burlington Arcade. 10 thousand won. How’d you get on?’  
I told him and he shrugged. ‘That’s it, then. You’ll have to give backword on the Gallery, go for something more compact, like a cardboard box.’  
He was starving too, so we left the river and trudged north for pizza or ramen. It was dusk already. We ate in a doorway and he said, ‘How’d you like a proper kip tonight, Kihyun – roof over your head, the works?’  
I looked at him. ‘Sally Army or something?’   
‘Nah!’ He shook his head. ‘Bad news, them places. Full of raving head-cases. Spent a night in one once – scared me to death. No – I was thinking of Captain Hook.’  
‘Who?’  
‘Captain Hook.’  
I looked at him. ‘Go on then – I’d fall for it. Who’s Captain Hook?’  
He shook his head, grinning. ‘It’s not a put-on, my friend. He’s a real guy. Get us a quick coffee and I’ll tell you all about him.’


	7. Another one bites the dust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh so this chapter is the re-written version because I lost all of the story saved so far due to my computer messing up :( Anyways I had no wifi until today and this has been written on my phone so pls forgive any mistakes!! Ty enjoy x

Daily Routine Orders 9

 

Three is a significant number. It crops up in all sorts of places. Three cheers. The Three Musketeers. If I had three wishes. Three blind mice. The Blessed Trinity. The three armed services. The three little pigs. A significant number.

I have three recruits now. When I had one I was a murderer, two, a double murderer, and now that I've got three I suppose I'm a mass serial killer. If they caught me now, which they won't, they'd probably make a film about me.

Naturally, I've arranged them the Army way - tallest on the left, shortest on the right and they look quite smart - especially now that I've cut their hair. I'll have to try to get them some boots, or at least some proper shoes - something which will take a shine. At the moment they're all wearing those manky trainer things.

Last night's bit of business - signing up recruit number three - gave me particluar pleasure. You'll see why presently, but let me start at the beginning. It was about 20:00 hours and I'd just begun my nightly patrol. It was an unpleasant evening - wind and sleet - exactly the sort of evening one needs in my line of work. I'd walked into an avenue and down the steps on to the towpath of the canal, intending to stroll along by the Lock to see what I could see when I spotted him.

He was a miserable looking creature - thin and round-shouldered with rat-tails of greasy hair half-way down his back. He had some pieces of cardboard which he was arranging on the ground under the stairsI'd just descended. It was fairly dry there and it was obvious he was setting up a billet for the night. I had on my do-gooder's rig and I approached him, looking concerned. 

'Surely,' I said, 'you don't intend spending a night like this in a place like that?' He was suspicious. Oh, yes. He looked at me and I knew straightaway he wasn't new to the game. 

'You got a better idea?' he growled.

I shrugged, putting on my best apologetic grin. 'No offence,' I said. 'It's just that it's so cold, and I wondered whether you'd tried your luck at the Plender Street hostel.'

'There's no hostel on Plender Street,' he said. 'And besides, hostels are always full up by this time.' He gazed at me. 'What's it to you, anyway? What"s your game, Grandad?'

'No game.' I smiled my woolly-headed smile. 'There is a hostel on Plender Street. It's new, so not many people know about it yet. That's why it's not so full.' 

'How'd you know so much?'

'I'm the Warden,' I lied. 'I run the place.'

'Why you not there, then?' 

Oh, he was canny, this one. I'd need all my talent. 

'I have to call in home,' I said. 'Feed Shownu. We don't live in, you see.'

'Shownu?'

'My cat.' 

He snorted. 'Fucking cat sleeps warmer than me. Eats better too.' He studied me. 'So you run this hostel?'

'Right.'

'And it's not full?' 

'Not when I left.' 

'Gotta be a catch.' He looked at me sidelong. 'How much?' 

I shook my head. 'Nothing. No catch. It's a free hostel. Breakfast, too.' 

'So if I go along--?' 

I grinned. 'If you go along you'll probably be fine. If you arrive with me it's a cert.'

'Where'd you live then?'

'Not far. Mornington Place. Know it?'

He nodded. 'I know it. Okay - I'm in, only you better be on the level, Grandad, 'cause if you ain't I'll kick your tripes out.'

So he abandoned his cardboard and shouldered his pack and we walked, and as we walked we talked.

'Whereabouts you from?' I enquired. I didn't give a damn where he was from - I knew exactly where he was going.

'Daegu.'

'Daegu? No work there,eh?'

He shook his head. 'Six months I was, writing letters, going for interviews. No chance.'

'So you thought you'd try Seoul?'

'Not straightaway. I tried the Army first.'

Well, you can be sure my ears pricked up at that. I was genuiely interested now. 'The Army?' I said. 'And what happened?'

He shrugged. 'Couldn't stand it. Thick idiots bawling at you all day long. Telling you what to do. And the food - Jesus! So I bought myself out.'

'Hmm - well. Not everybody's cup of tea, the Army. Full of Fascists, I shouldn't wonder.' I was absolutely seething of course, but I didn't give myself away. I was magnificent. Thick idiots, indeed! 

'Dunno about Fascists,' he said. 'I'm not into politics, but you must have to be desperate to stay in that mob.' He spat in the gutter. 'Better off on the streets.'

Right. I thought. You don't know it, but you're about to join another army. It's a very small army, but it doesn't rely on volunteers and you can't buy yourself out. My God you can't. 

I told myself, watch this one. He's not stupid, but it turned out easier than I expected. Soft sod squatted down on my kitchen floor to fondle the ruddy animal and I let him have it with the Kit-E-Kat tin. Well - trained to kill, see. Know the exact spot to go for.

And d'you know something? That boy looks a hundred per cent better with a short back and sides. His mum would be proud of him.


	8. Aye aye captain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kihyun and Minhyuk meet "Captain Hook".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the second chapter I am posting for today to make up for my lack of posting (not my fault I swear!) Things will pick up pace I promise *sweats* enjoy!

So I fetched a coffee from the pizza bar and we shared it and Minhyuk told me about Captain Hook.

'Seems this guy, Younghwa's his real name, buys six beat-up old narrowboats a few years back for a song, intending to do them up and hire them out for canal holidays, but when he finds out how much it'll cost to do 'em up he decides not to bother. He has a better idea. He's seen all the kids sleeping rough and he thinks, I know. Floating homeless-houses, right? Dry spot, out of the wind, safe from crazies, no hassle from the police - three thousand won a night. So he rips out all of the fittings to maximize floor space or deck space or whatever, and works out he can cram sixty kids on each boat - all under cover. Six boats. That's three hundred and sixty kids at three thousand won a night. Of course it doesn't work that way in practice. He's hardly ever full, even in winter, because it's not so easy to score three thousand won and anyway some kids can't stand being closed in, but he's doing okay out of it just the same.'

Minhyuk broke off for a gulp of coffee and I said, 'But surely there's regulations? Fire and that? Is it legal, what he's doing?' 

Minhyuk shrugged. 'Fire, health and hygiene - he must be well out of line, but nobody'dls bothered. I mean, he's getting kids off the streets, see? Packing 'em away where the tourists can't see them, so the powers that be turn a blind eye.'

'And where is this? Where's he got these boats?'

'By the canal lock. D'you fancy it? Out of the weather for once?'

I shrugged. 'Sounds okay, yeah, but I'm low on cash. Three thousand for a night will clean me out.'

'No worries.' He grinned. 'I met this guy today, owed me some money. Didn't have all of it but gave me some. We're laughing.'

'He must be working.'

'Sort of, yeah. Sells the paper. "The Big Issue". Sells it cheap but keeps 3/4 of the profit. Lucky guy.' He looked at me. 'Are we on, then?' 

I nodded and we set off into the wind with our heads down, Minhyuk's bin bag. Two lost boys, off into never-never land. 

\---------****--------

Have you ever seen that famous diagram of a slave ship - slaves crammed like sardines into every square centimetre of space? Well, that's what it was like on the boat me and Minhyuk ended up on.

We'd parted with our money on the tow path, where Yonghwa had his office in of those yellow plastic watchman shelters. He didn't look like Captain Hook. He was sitting on a folding canvas chair wearing wellies, a waxed jacket, a muffler, a knitted cap and gloves with the fingers cut out. He had a smooth, pale pink compelxion and pretty eyes and looked to be in about his late 20's. When he smiled, as he did when he grabbed out money, he showed very small, very even white teeth. 

He stuffed the notes into a bulging wallet which he returned to an inside pocket. I was wondering why some guy hadn't mugged him for this when I heard a low growl and saw a Rottweiler the size of a horse gazing out from between his feet. Younghwa showed his teeth again.

'Don't even think about it, kid,' he purred. He must've been a mind reader or something. Then he pointed to the nearest of his boats, moored fore and aft to bollards on the bank. 'That one,' he said. 'Mind the gap.'

I've told you it looked like a slave ship. What I haven't said is that it stank like one, too. You went through a narrow door and it hit you - the stench of too many damp, unwashed bodies, too much lingering flatulence. There were three steps down and then you were falling over sleepers, looking for a space in the poor light from a paraffin lamp which dangled unlawfully from the deckhead. 

We found a sliver of unoccupied floorspace and bedded down, drawing grunts and curses from those we kicked and elbowed in doing so.

One thing, though - it was certainly warm, and you weren't straining your ears all the time listening for potential assailants. The boat rocked very gently on the water, and once you stopped noticing the smell the whole thing was quite plesant. It's amazing how resilient wooden planks feel after lying night after night on stone.

I dropped off almost at once; and dreamt I was sailing my yacht through blue, tropic waters of breathtaking clarity under a cloudless sky, while Chang-sun hurried back and forth with long, cool drinks for me, and my rat-faced former landlord cooled me with a peacock fan. It was terrific while it lasted, but waking up was a drag.


	9. Doggy Bag

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Again more of a filler chapter. But I hope it gives off the struggles that homeless people face. Everyday. Enjoy lol :')

Has it ever struck you how much money people waste buying crap? I never really noticed till that Saturday after our night on the boat, when me and Minhyuk walked around the market.

The Lock's famous market, apparently, but I'd never heard of it till that morning. It's right beside the canal - a big site crammes with shops and stalls flogging all sorts of fancy stuff. Hats. Jewellery. T-shirts. Mirrors. Candles. Candles, for godsakes. You name it, they've got it. A lot of the stuff's ethnic - Indian and so on - and they burn joss sticks all the time so the whole place smells of incense. 

It's only there weekends, and it attracts thousands of people. Anyway, me and Minhyuk walk around and he says, 'No shortage of money here, Kihyun my friend. Money to burn. Breaks my heart how they chuck it away. Look.' I look where he's pointing and see fat, rainbow-coloured candles selling for far to much. 'Look at that,' he laments. 'They'll refuse you ten won towards a cup of coffee, then spend 40,000 won on a candle. Makes you weep.'

I chuckle. 'Why'd we come here, then, if it upsets you so much?'

He winks. 'Facilities. Come on.'

I followed him up some steps and along a walkway and there were some immaculate toilets. We used them of course and had a proper wash. Minhyuk even washed out a pair of Y-fronts he produced from his pack. People were in and out all the time but nobody paid us any attention.I must have used about sixteen paper towels drying myself but I felt a whole lot better aftrrwards. 

We're sipping scalding tea in one of the market cafés when three kids come in. Minhyuk knows them and they come and sit with us. Two guys and a girl, all with packs amd that grey, zombie look you get from living on the street. Minhyuk doesn't intoduce me and they ignore me, talking thirteen to the dozen with their chapped hands wrapped around steaming mugs.

Where have you been? How's it going? D'you ever see old what's-his-face nowadays? I sit gazing into my tea, feeling - what? Jealously? Maybe. Apprehension, certainly. These are Minhyuk's friends. They've shared experinces. Have acquaintances in common. They know what he knows. What if he ditches me - goes off with them? If I was alone again, could I stand it? Do I know enough to get by?

A name comes up. A jokey name. Doggy Bag. 'D'you ever see Doggy Bag now?' asks Minhyuk, and the girl shakes her head.

'No,' she says. 'He vanished. One day he's in his usual doorway, next day gone.'

'Found work, maybe,' one of the guys suggests. 'Or moved on,' says the other. This closes the subject and the chat moves on, leaving me wondering how a guy gets a name like that.

They get up eventually, shrugging on their packs. We do the same. None of us wants to leave. It's warm in the café, but the proprietor's giving us dirty looks and we have no more money for tea, so we go before he can chuck us out.

Outside, they say so long to Minhyuk and one of them nods at me and they're gone, melting into the crowd. Minhyuk's still here, and because I'm glad I smile and say, 'The guy you asked about - why'd they call him Doggy Bag?' 

Minhyuk grins. 'He used to hang around cafés, and when somebody left he'd slip over to their table quick and drop their scraps in a plastic bag before the waitress came to clear. He couldn't bring himself to ask for change so that's how he lived, and that's why we christened him Doggy Bag.'

We left the market and trudged along the towpath and I started thinking about Doggy Bag, and after a bit I had to keep my face turned away from Minhyuk because I was afraid he'd see I was struggling to keep from crying.

I know it sounds stupid. I mean, I never knew the guy. Never even met him, but what I started thinking was this. I started thinking about how once, years ago, there was this baby, and his mum and dad loved him like mum and dads should, and they gave him a name and dreamed about what he'd be when he grew up and what his life would be like and all that, and how they never dreamed he'd be called Doggy Bag and live on scraps and be so unimportant that he'd vanish and no on would care.

 

\--------///!--------

 

Daily Routine Orders 10

I do believe the mountain has come to Mohammed. Remember the two dossers I told you about - the ones who laughed at me in the Haymarket? Well, I spotted them this morning at the Lock, talking to some other scruffs. I know it was them - I never forget a face - and what I'm hoping is, two things, One, that they've moved into the area, and two, that they split up sometimes.

I mean, I'm good at what I do. Damn good, but even I wouldn't fancy trying to recruit them two at a time.

See, you've got to know your enemy if you're going to lick him, and I know my enemy. I've observed him, and what I'ved observed is this. A lot of these dossers get together in twos, threes and fours and stick together.

They might separate in the day-time - one might have to go to the job centre or somewhere - but at night they huddle together for warmth or protection or whatever. And of course you'd have to be nuts to approach them then, and I'm not nuts. But God I'm not. No. Loners is what you look for in my line of business. Singletons. So I'm going to watch my laughing boys, and when they separate we'll see who has the last laugh.

**Author's Note:**

> British slang terms were used so for those of you that hadn't figured it out  
> * Dosser = homeless person (kinda rude)  
> *Pillock= stupid person/act


End file.
